Love Me
by Lavender and Hay
Summary: Follow up to Please, Let Me Love You. Richard and Isobel's life together, starting the morning after the end of the last story. Can go on for as long as you want it to. Written because of an idea that Batwings gave me.


Following the rather intriguing smell of burning to the kitchen, she stopped when she reached the door and saw what was going on. She smiled, holding her dressing gown around her waist, as she watched him scrambling rather haphazardly around her kitchen in his shirt and trousers. Suddenly, he caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye and turned to her in embarrassment at having been caught in such a flap, watching her rather sheepishly.

"What are you doing, Richard?" she asked him, trying to sound stern, but unable to prevent herself smiling.

"Trying to impress you," he replied.

"By setting fire to my kitchen?" she asked him.

He still looked flustered but, seeing a grin break out across her face, seemed unable to stop himself laughing too.

"Look at you," she told him, crossing into the kitchen, her arms a little outstretched towards him wrapping her arms around his sides. "What a sight you are."

And it was true; his shirt was rumpled and his hair untidy. She found it very attractive. Up until a few moments ago he had been the picture of harassment, but she was very glad when he seemed to relax into her arms. Standing on her tiptoes a little, she stretched up and kissed him tenderly, still smiling a little.

"I haven't tried to make a complicated breakfast in a long time," he explained humbly.

"And by "complicated" I take it we're talking anything more complicated than toast?" she asked him, biting her smile back, "Richard, don't look like that! I'm only teasing you! It doesn't matter. You don't need to cook to impress me," she told him, resting a playful hand on his chest, looking up at him a little coyly.

"You feel better, don't you?" he asked her, his expression hopeful.

"Yes, I feel much better," she told him honestly, "I didn't think I'd feel anything happy for a long time. And then this... This is going to sound like an appalling attempt at poetry," she warned him.

"Go on," he encouraged her, kissing her forehead briefly and softly, "It doesn't matter."

"It feels like you've dragged the pieces of my heart back together, and held them there," she told him, "I didn't think it would possible, but you seem to have just about managed it. I would say I didn't know how you'd done it, but," she paused, looking down at where her gently balled-up fist rested against his chest, "Last night you told me you wanted to be my husband. Tell me you still do."

He paused for just a moment and then he gently loosened his arms from around her. For one awful awful moment she thought he was about to walk away from her. But then he fell silently to his knees. Her breath caught.

"Richard..."

"I will spend the rest of my life trying to be worthy of calling myself your husband, Isobel."

"You don't have to," she replied, "You already are. You're wonderful."

He caught one of her hands, resting by her side, brought it to his lips and kissed it quickly. Gently, she ran both her hands through his hair, holding his head to her waist and he wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his cheek against the warmth of her body.

Her eyes were closed, savouring the warmth and closeness and the strength of his body next to hers when she heard him whisper.

"Marry me?"

Opening her eyes, she looked down at him with kindness and slight disbelief in her expression.

"You foolish man, how many ways do I need to tell you I want to spend my life with you before you'll believe me?"

"I'll never quite believe it," he told her.

She bowed her head down to his, kissing him hard and thoroughly so that he groan up at her lips.

"Now do you believe me?" she asked him.

"I'm a man of science, I prefer to hear things in a very literal way."

She smiled, pretending to roll her eyes and not to find that confession a little endearing.

"Alright, Richard," she told him, running the tip of her finger softly along the lines at the edge of his face, "Yes. I will marry you."

"Thank you," he told her.

She leant down again, kissing him quickly.

"Should I make the breakfast?" she asked him.

"You don't have to. I'll-..."

"I want to," she cut him off with a rather wicked grin, "I'll feel safer."


End file.
